


A Legacy to Uphold

by EstaJay



Category: Randy Cunningham: 9th Grade Ninja
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, In which Randy is an eight hundred year old ninja, Should end up as a drabble series?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-11 21:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11722812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EstaJay/pseuds/EstaJay
Summary: For eight hundred years the Ninja has been locked in combat with the Sorcerer to protect the Norrisville and vengeance. Now he's attending Norrisville High for the tenth time as Randy Cunningham, binding his time until he can finally defeat his foe and maybe playing some Grave Puncher with Howard along the way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ninja Monogatari](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054410) by [mayonaka_no_sasayaki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayonaka_no_sasayaki/pseuds/mayonaka_no_sasayaki). 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A legacy is made and a new year starts.

The remains of the Sorcerer’s dark magic swirled over the bloodied wooden floor, powerless without a host to possess or a master to command it. But the work was done. The green miasma coloured the spilt blood a rotten brown. The remains of the ninja mask, the heirloom of the Norisu clan, laid shredded and in pieces. The protection of the Tengu having faded when it had been consumed by the Sorcerer’s magic. 

Its former bearer laid in the arms of his nephew, life slowly draining away as blood flowed from his fatal wounds. 

“Uncle, please!” the boy cried, hands cloaked in the red light of the Art of Healing. He was relatively unharmed, having escaped the slaughter due to being in town to retrieve the Tengu Stone from the village. Said stone now laid cracked in half, the spirit sealed having been released. 

The man weakly lowered the boy’s hands, the healing light extinguishing. “No, it is pointless now.” He said. “I will not survive.”

“But you have too!” the boy insisted. “You have too! You’re the best ninja in the clan, you’re  _ the  _ Ninja! Who will fight the Sorcerer now?” 

The man coughed, blood splattering over his nephew’s shirt. He didn’t have much time left. “It is...It is up to you now.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “M-me?! But...but I’m-”

“You are a Norisu ninja.” his uncle interjected, his voice remaining strong despite his weakening condition. “You are the ninth son of the ninth son.The ninth and final generation to combat the Sorcerer. You will be the one to defeat him. So it was foretold-” He broke out into a violent coughing fit, covering them both in more blood.

“Uncle!”

“Get the...Get the tome.” the man heaved. “So that...So that I may part my knowledge with you.”

The boy nodded and stood to retrieve the ancient book, having finally accepted his uncle’s fate. The Ninjanomicon contained all the wisdom and memories of their clan and had survived both the attack and proceeding fire relatively unscathed. 

The boy opened the book onto his dying uncle’s lap, allowing for his mind to be immersed in its pages for the Ultimate Lesson. 

When his mind returned, he said. “Let this atone for my weakness.”

Then his breathing stopped. 

For a moment there was silence. The boy was oblivious to the dying fire that had scorched him home, the smoke and burning flesh of his family, the blood on the floor and on his hands. High above the Tengu cried a song of mourning as it circled high above the burned building. A low sombre tune that echoed throughout the land.

The boy stood. He was the last of his clan. He closed the book and pulled the remains of the mask over his head. He strode out of the ruined building with purpose, anger burning in his eyes. He turned to the mountain in the east where green clouds encircled its peak. That was the lair of his enemy. 

The Tengu landed per cautiously on a wooden frame, curiously eyeing the boy that had released it. The boy, feeling its gaze, turned to face the bird demon.

“Great Tengu, let you bear witness to this oath of the ninth son of the ninth son, the last of the Norisu clan!” the boy declared. “My home now lays in ashes, my family are now dust. But here I swear! Though my body may rot, though my memory may fade, let my spirit know no rest until the Sorcerer has been vanquished! Let my vengeance burn until the end of time! So swears the last Ninja of Norisu!”

{~~~}

“Congratulations to the graduating class of two thousand and twelve!” Principal Slimovitz said from the podium.

The audience erupted into applause, as did the silent observer from the rafters. He would not have been unwelcomed, in fact he should be down there with the rest of his year mates, the students he had spent the last four years at Norrisville High with. Teenagers done with another chapter of their lives and ready to step into the adult world. But he would remain here, as he had since the school first opened. What was the point of joining them if he wasn’t even going to leave? This wasn’t a graduation for him, just the end of another four year cycle. 

He left as soon as the valedictorian stepped up to the podium to give one final speech. This wasn’t just the last day for seniors, it was the first day for the freshmen.

The bell was about to ring in another minute or two and it would be good for him to be late on his ‘first’ day of school. But there was someone that he still had to meet. 

As he emerged from the shadows, his appearance shifted. Wild purple hair and a Mcfist branded hoodie over a red shirt bearing his family crest. 

“Cunningham!” a voice called as a stout ginger haired boy in a blue squid shirt and vest ran towards him. 

“Hey Howard.” he greeted with a steady smile. 

“Ready for our first day of high school?” Howard asked, slinging an arm over his shoulders.

He chuckled slightly. “Technically, this will be my tenth ‘first day’.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you ancient shoob.” Howard said. “But are you ready to carve the names of ‘Howard Weinerman’ and ‘Randy Cunningham’ into the history of Norrisville High?”

He turned to look at the school, his second ‘home’ and prison of his mortal enemy. “You bet. I get the feeling that the next four years are going to be the cheese!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first robot attack and stanking of the year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might as well write while the ideas are still fresh and there's still time to procrastinate over homework.

“...So that’s a good place to hide during a robot attack, that leads to an emergency exit, that’s a good place to jump from in case the building catches on fire-”

Howard grabbed Randy by the shoulder, bringing the both of them to a stop in the middle of the hallway. “Cunningham, what’s the honking point of all this?”

Randy turned to him with furrowed brows. “You said you wanted me to show you the brucest places in the school.”

“Yeah, like hidden passageways and secret tunnels,  _ not  _ a bunch of wonk emergency exits.”

“They are not wonk!” Randy protested. “These routes are the cheese! Eight hundred years ago, you’d be shoob’d if you got caught in a building during an attack. Now though-”

Then the ground suddenly started shaking, followed by several crashes and a scream. 

Howard immediately latched onto his taller friend. “Cunningham!”

Randy, however, was completely unfazed. “Chill out, Howard. It’s just McFist again. A little early in the year but it’s only McFist in the end.”

“McFist?! As in  _ the  _ Hannibal McFist?!” Howard exclaimed. “What does he have anything to do with this?!”

“He’s been sending robots to destroy the Ninja for the past decade, probably ‘cause he’s still mad about what happened in ‘85.” Randy said offhandedly. “It’s not a big deal.”

“No, this  _ is  _ a big deal! If McFist is trying to destroy the-”

“Ninja! It’s the Ninja everybody!” someone cried.

The once frightened students rushed to the windows with Howard pushing himself to the front of the crowd. Outside, fighting a mechanized scorpion was an unmistakable figure in black and red. The Ninja.

“What the juice?! Cunningham-” But Howard spotted Randy hanging at the back of the crowd. “But...how -”

Randy smirked, sneaking his way through the students and pulling a stumbling Howard out of the crowd.

“C’mon, we’re going to be late for Spanish.” Randy said. 

Howard was still stuttering in disbelief. “But...you here, but out there - Ninja and…”

“A ninja’s strength lies in the shadows.” Randy said, the smirk lingering on his face.

“Shadows...what…” Howard peered behind his friend and, despite the hallway being brightly lit, there was no shadow. He looked back to the window, where the figure of the Ninja appeared more wispy and less solid than normal even from this distance. “A  _ shadow clone?”  _ Howard asked, a grin growing on his face.

“Not exactly but...yeah, pretty much.” Randy replied with an identical grin. 

“That’s so honking bruce! How many clones can you make? Can you make clones of other people? What-”

Randy laughed, placing an arm over his shorter and  _ much  _ younger friend. “Later. We’ve still got class.”

Howard immediately deflated. “That’s so wonk, Cunningham. The Ninja’s fighting outside!”

“And the Ninja also doesn’t want you to be late for Spanish.” Randy countered, leading him farther from the fight and towards the classroom. “You’ll be seeing tons of ninja fights. You can miss out on this one.”

Howard grumbled under his breath before perking up slightly. “Hey, do you do any actual ninjaing or do you leave it all to the shadow clones?”

Randy opened his mouth to reply but then he spotted a slight movement out the corner of his eye. Green wisps whirled around the vents.Not only was McFist oddly active this early in the year but the Sorcerer as well. Normally they would wait at least a week before doing anything but now, it was only a matter of time before someone got stanked. 

“The enemy strikes at the time that is unlikely.” Randy mumbled, thinking back to his old lessons. “Stay two steps ahead of your opponent but be wary of falling three steps behind.”

Howard shot him a confused look. “What are you even mumbling about, Cunningham?”

“Oh just some ninja stuff.” 

“Well you can ninja later. We’ve got important stuff to plan.”

“Like the year long project Senora Jorge set last period?”

“What, no.” Howard scoffed. “I was talking about getting into the Fish Cage, chilling out with all the popular kids. I was thinking speedos, blue body paint and maybe some airhorns…”

{~~~}

Barely a day later was the first monster attack of the year. 

The Ninja couldn’t help but feel sorry for the kid, Bucky Hensletter if he heard correctly, and it was unlikely that this was the last time the kid would be forced to become the Sorcerer’s pawn.  Once someone got stanked, it became more likely for them to be stanked again. That kid was going to have a rough four years ahead of him. 

Stanked students weren’t something that he could leave to an automated shadow double. Sure his predecessors might have done so in the past but back then they had no idea that there was a way to reverse the Sorcerer’s magic. (And how he found out how to destank was something he didn’t like remembering…)

At least this time, it was a quick and simple one. Hensletter had been so devastated from being suspended from the marching band and the ‘backup dinger’ was easily in his reach. 

Once the boy had been released from the Sorcerer’s influence, the Ninja spirited him off to the bathroom.  _ A ninja’s duty lies beyond the range of his sword,  _ after all. 

Hensletter eyes flickered. “Ah...What the juice happened?” He said blearily. When he looked up, he jumped slightly from surprise. “The Ninja?!”

“The one and only.” The Ninja said with a slight smile, not that the boy could see from behind the mask. He passed him a spare uniform ‘borrowed’ from the band room. “You may need this.”

“Why…?” then the boy looked down and realised that his clothes had been stretched and shredded by his monster form. “Thanks.” he said, taking the uniform with a slight blush. “So why are you here?...Uh not to be rude or anything! But don’t you have more important ninja stuff to do than dealing with a band geek?”

Yes, checking back on the victims after destanking them was a new thing, like only within the past fifty years new, but...the Ninja couldn’t have another ‘85 happen. 

“Just touching base, that’s all.” the Ninja said. “Just wanted to make sure you’re not too wonked up after getting stanked.”   
“Stanked?”

“Well you know Norrisville High’s ‘monster problem’? It’s from people getting stanked when they fall into a spiral of despair, y’know like when you’re feeling really wonk.” 

“So it’s all my fault?” Hensletter said, deflating further. “Of course it is…”

“What? No!” the Ninja said immediately, placing his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “It’s not your fault. You blame the shoob doing the stanking, not the guy who got stanked.”  _ Or the shoob who let them build a school over an evil sorcerer’s prison.  _ “That’s what’s the Ninja’s here for. To make sure no one ends up too wonk during  _ and  _ after the stank. I’m not going to lie to you, there’s a good chance you’ll get stanked again but it can happen to everybody, including me.”

“You. The Ninja getting so wonk that you’ll turn into a monster?” Hensletter said, wide with disbelief. 

“Yes. Even me.” Because he remembered coming home from the village. The blood. The fire. The monster.  _ His uncle.  _ “Everyone has their off days but it’s what we do afterwards that counts. Ready to get back out there and be the brucest you that you can be?”

“You bet, Ninja!” Hensletter said, throwing an arm up in the air. “...Though, I should probably apologize to Miss Wickwhacker for showboating and all…”

“Don’t worry she’ll forgive you.” the Ninja said. Wickwhacker may be strict but she had a good heart underneath it all. Besides, she probably still knew what it was like to get stanked herself. “It’s best for me to get going now. See you later.” And with that, he dropped a smoke bomb and melted into the shadows. 

He materialized just outside the gym, as Randy Cunningham again. Still in nothing but those speedos sadly. Howard was close by, wrapped in a blanket.

“Cunningham! Where have you been?” he asked, offering him a blanket. 

“Just finishing up some ninja business.” Randy said, covering himself up. He could easily materialise some clothes with the Art of Disguise but he wouldn’t let Howard suffer on his own. 

“This is going to be a thing, isn’t it.” Howard said. 

Randy gave a slight shrug. “I’m the Ninja after all.”

Howard punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. C’mon, let’s head home, you shoob.”

Though they laughed and joked on their way back to Howard’s house, Randy couldn’t help but think back to one of the earliest lessons that he had learned directly from his father:

_ Friendship is a weight that a ninja cannot carry… _

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little discussion between a ninth grader and an 800 year old ninja (and a memory that is best left forgotten.)  
> TW: Self harm, suicide attempt, graphic description of injury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel really bad about writing this one.

Howard shoved another mouthful of cereal into his mouth. “Oh, c’mon, Cunningham!”

Randy, however, remained adamant. “I’m sorry Howard but no.”

“But it would make our performances look so bruce!” Howard whined, placing his bowl down and waving his arms around to illustrate the point. “Like we hit the final chorus and ‘boom’! Smoke bomb! And I’ll be all like ‘boong-ga-boom’ and you’ll be all like “wheep-whoo’ and-”

“The smoke bomb is a tool, not a toy for show.” 

“And there you go sounding like some wonk textbook again.” He grabbed his bowl and continued eating while talking between bites. “You’ve got like a gazillion of those things. Can’t you just use a couple for our band?”

“Have you ever  _ smelled  _ a skunk pine? Sacred tree or not, that thing is shnasty.” Randy wrinkled his nose at the memory of the smell. “I like to go as long as possible without having to make a new batch every decade. We can get a smoke machine or something if that’s what you want.”

“But it won’t be  _ ninja  _ smoke.” Howard dropped his empty bowl onto the table and let out a large belch. “Ok, fine. Enough about smoke bombs. How about this, can a ninja sword cut through?”

“Anything.” Randy said with a sly grin.

Howard perked up. “ _ Anything?” _

“Anything.”

“Even let’s say...hmm, a bulldozer?”

Randy’s eyes narrowed, catching Howard’s train of thought. “Except that.”

“You mean that you can cut through robots and cars but not bulldozers.”

“Ninja swords can cut through anything, except stupid.”

“Bulldozers aren’t stupid.” Howard scoffed.

Randy crossed his arms in response. “And neither are washing machines. But using a ninja sword to try and cut through random stuff is stupid enough to get it broken.” Then he mumbled, “I don’t need Samuel lecturing me twice in a lifetime.”

“Who’s Samuel?”

“Samuel Ward Smith the swordsmith.”

Howard furrowed his brow. “As in the blind metalworks teacher?”

“At least in this lifetime.” Randy nodded. “He’s been around for almost as long as I have, except it’s more of a reincarnation thing for him. So there’s always a couple of decades I absolutely  _ cannot  _ wonk up my weapons or else I’ll be shoob’d until he gets all his memories back.”

“As long as…” Howard’s eyes widened. “You mean there are more guys like you? Is there like a secret society of immortals secretly running Norrisville or something?”

“They’re only three including me.” Randy corrected. “And immortality doesn’t all work the same for all of us. Like Samuel got his reincarnation thing, Bruce can live forever but dies if he gets stabbed in the right place and me…” He leaned over the table, a smirk dancing across his face. “...the ninja shall serve his duty, neither wounds nor age hindering him.”

“You mean you’ve got immortality  _ and  _ invulnerability.” Howard gaped. “That’s. So.Honking.  _ Bruce!” _

“Hey!”

Both boys turned to see Heidi sticking her head through the kitchen doorway. “What are you two yelling about?”

“Just whether the Ninja is indestructible as he is immortal.” Randy said smoothly. 

“Yeah and with all the monster and robot attacks, he’s got to have the whole package.” Howard added. 

Heidi glared at the pair. “Well can you at least be a little quieter. Some of us actually have homework to do. Or better yet, go to Andy’s house and yell all you want.”

“It’s still Randy.” corrected Randy. 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Rudy.” Heidi said as she disappeared back into her room. 

Howard huffed and crossed his arms. “What’s her honking problem anyway?”   
“Cut her some slack Howard. She’s in eleventh grade, the workload starts to pile up then.” Randy said. “Come to mention it, don’t we have some homework to do?”

“Meh. We can do it later.” Howard said with a dismissing wave. “We’ve got more important stuff to do, like checking out that indestructibility of yours!” He leaped out of his chair. “Race you to the quarry, Cunningham!” 

Randy smiled as his young friend took off. He would have had no trouble outpacing him but he decided to take his time to let Howard ‘win’ the race. It was going to be a painful afternoon for him after all but none of it would be too malicious. Randy would humour Howard with this, it was the least that he owed him.

{~~~}

_ Several centuries earlier… _

The boy’s trembling hands dropped the blade and he curled into himself, regardless of the piercing pain in his gut. Blood was everywhere. On his clothes, on his hands, on his knife. The weapon laid in a pile of blood drenched innards, glowing a sickly pale yellow under the moonlight. 

Despite his intestines and other internal organs clearly before him, the boy felt his insides churn and rumble. He looked down in morbid fascination as new entrails took form through the gaping hole in his stomach before the pain of the regeneration hit him like burning white fire over his torso. 

_ “Why?” _

He reached for the knife again, needle sharp pain spearing through his body with every movement. Sloppily, he plunged it into his chest. He missed his target and instead hit a rib. Then he pulled down, making a second gash stream across his body as the blade once again dropped to the ground. 

_ “Why?” _

Once more, the boy grabbed the weapon. From inside his soul, the Tengu screeched, demanding that its host stop this insanity. He raised the knife high in the air and stabbed, a bullseye on his target. The boy flopped onto his back, blade plunged directly into his heart as he laid in a pool of his own blood, slowly growing as more streamed from his body.

The boy had stopped breathing. 

But the boy was still alive.

Why?

Because it  _ hurt.  _

His body reconstructed itself bit by bit. Knitting together self inflicted wounds and recreating crushed organs and mending broken bones. Joints snapped into place with sharp cracks. The blood and flesh surrounding him evaporated into wisps of black shadow. 

The boy felt every little action with acute detail, with indescribable pain. He made no noise though. His vocal chords were still flooded with blood but ever so slowly, it was receding. 

Soon, the boy was as he once was. Physically ten-and-four years. Skin smooth, pale and scarless. 

“Why…”

The Tengu thrashed wildly from within, angered by another act of its host foolishness. His friend would find him upon sunrise and suspect nothing. There was no evidence after all. 

The boy breathed in and out, large lungfuls of air that were as natural as anything else and completely painless.

“Why can’t I  _ die?” _

{~~~}

Stay grounded and do not waver

The dirt itself will pay you a favour

To bind my foe into the earth

So I a duty to which I birth

And to the spirit with great wings

Together as one we will be.

From now till that time has come

Let not my life come undone,

Until my foe has met his end

To neither time nor pain shall we bend.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard takes a peek into Randy's wallet and a peek into his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't expect the update schedule to stay like this. I'm just getting it all out while I still can.   
> This chapter was inspired by the Pokemon fanfic 'The Wallet' by LeDiz (https://archiveofourown.org/works/7701307)

It was a blank canvas. Pure white and open to endless possibilities. Acrylic or oil or gouache or maybe something else entirely could grace its surface. It could inspire happiness or sadness, be humble or provocative or…

A blob of black paint was splattered onto the surface followed by a blob of red. 

“Miss! I’m done!” Howard called, earning him the glares of several of his classmates still sketching on their own canvas. 

The art teacher came over to examine the work with a critical eye. “And this is?”

“Art.” Howard said confidently, puffing out his chest. This should be an easy out to the class.

The teacher however remained skeptical. “What aesthetic qualities were you aiming for?” she asked.

Howard responded with a blank, “Wha?”

The teacher continued to press her questions. “Does your piece hold any significant message or meaning?”   
“Eh…”  

“What art elements and principles have you incorporated?”

“Umm…” He made a sidewards glance, hoping to catch anything that could give him a hint.

“Do you even know what materials you have used?”

“Paint of white stuff?” Howard replied weakly.

From his own station nearby, Randy slapped himself on the forehead. 

The teacher crossed her arms and gave a slight huff. She gave Howard a stern look before sweeping of without another word. 

Howard turned to the easel and gave it a firm kick, knocking it off balance. Randy came in and caught it before it could fall on his friend. 

“You should have known that wasn’t going to work.” Randy said as he set the easel back up. 

Howard continued to grumble then waved at the canvas. “Well it’s abstract!”

“And lazy. That’s not going to fly in this class.”

“Well it’s not like I can honking draw or anything.”

“Then why did you take this class?”

“Why did  _ you  _ take this class?” Howard countered with a pointed glare. 

Randy immediately straightened. “I happen to like this class. You didn’t have to take the exact same subjects I did.”

“It’s not like I can leave you alone without wonking stuff up.” Howard countered. “Besides we’re best friends, we’ve got to take all our classes together. Though I wished we were in home ec instead…”

“Of course.” Randy said with a wry smile. He then turned to the canvas with a brush. “Now let’s see if we can make something out of this. While there can’t be much done with the blobs themselves, maybe it could act as a background if we add a person here...” With a dab of grey paint, Randy began sketching the outline of a figure, a plain mannikin caught midway through a kick.”Like that. It creates a sort of dynamic effect, right?”

Howard brought a hand to his chin and nodded. “Yeah, like a comic book.”

Randy grinned. His friend wasn’t completely hopeless after all. “We could add an outline to the figure to make it pop out more or we could do without one to put more focus on the movement of colour.”

“But paintings don’t move.”

“There are always exceptions.” Randy said with a slight chuckle. Before he could say anymore, the bell rang. 

“Oh yeah! Lunchtime!” Howard cheered, gathering up his books and ready to dash out to the cafeteria. 

Randy grabbed him by the collar before he could run out the door. “Howard, we still have to clean up.” Howard’s paint splatters had marked more than just the canvas and there were still the watercolours that Randy had been working with. 

“But Cunningham!” Howard whinned. “It’s shepherd's pie special!”

“But…” Randy stopped himself then shook his head. “Fine, go ahead. I’ll clean up here and meet you there.”

“Thanks Cunningham.” 

“And Howard!” Randy called just as the other boy was about the leave the room. “Get something for me too.” he said, tossing him his wallet. 

“Sure.”

And Howard was off to the cafeteria, books back in his locker and Randy’s wallet in hand as he thought of all the possibilities that he could have. Something for his friend as well. Though how much did a centuries old ninja eat? Sure Randy was a bit peeved whenever Howard snatched his food but he had never really seen him eat much at all. Didn’t Randy also tell him once about how he ate nothing but rice and pickled ginger for three hundred years? That would be shnasty. 

Lost in thought, Howard was knocked off his feet as someone bumped into him.

“Hey! Watch it shoob!” But the culprit had long since walked off. 

Grumbling Howard pulled himself to his feet then he noticed that something had spilled out of Randy’s wallet. Picking it up, he found that it had unfurled into a long stream of pictures. 

“What the juice?”

Howard flicked down to the very bottom picture. It was a photo of Randy with three other people, a lanky ginger with a trombone, a bespectacled girl with a clarinet and a guy with a nose ring and a set of drumsticks. All four of them were in the blue uniform of the school’s marching band. 

“Cunningham was in the marching band. Lame.” Howard scoffed. 

Along the border of the photo, was written:  _ Marching Band Gang: Zane, Steph and Jarred. Rudy, 2010 _

They must have been Randy’s past friends, Howard realised. He glanced at the rest of the roll. All of them must have been Randy’s past friends. 

The next photo up was Randy trapped in the embrace of a large boy wearing a small yellow cap over his black hair. The other boy was crying and there was an open car trunk filled with luggage behind them.  _ Saying goodbye to Kronk. Anderson, 2005 _

Howard flicked up again. This photo was older than the other two with Randy wedged between a curly haired ginger with yellow shades and a shorter blond kid with a metal arm. Underneath was written:  _ Welcoming back Al with Mac. Chuck, 1983 _

“Al...Hannibal...Cunningham was friends with Mcfist?”  Because who else had a metal arm with a brain in it? But if Randy had been friends with Mcfist, why was he trying to destroy the Ninja?

Howard continued to look through the photos. After the first three, he realised that the name before the year was whatever name Randy had been going by at the time. 

Randy with a boy and girl huddled over an old computer with a camera plugged in.  _ Editing with Pete and Stacy. Kade, 1979 _

The tail end of a food fight with Randy at the bottom of a human pile covered in cream, a scrawny boy with glasses on top of him and a shorter girl with a ponytail on top of the pile.  _ Jay wins, Mason and I lose. Ben, 1974 _

A nerdy kid and a blonde girl with a bob sitting at a retro soda shop with Randy grinning in the background.  _ Success: hooked up Dave with Mary Sue. Bud, 1971 _

Randy sitting on a park bench with a black-haired girl, their hands clasped between them as they watch the sunset.  _ With Louise. Jim, 1967 _

A pouting Randy standing outside of the principal’s office with a brown haired boy glaring at him from across the hall.  _ Trouble on the first day. Norris, 1962 _

The ones that came after these had characters scrawled underneath them instead of English, Japanese Howard assumed, but the same five people seem to pop up every so often even when the photos turned black and white and then later when they were little watercolour paintings. Two Howard recognised as Mr Smith the metalworks teacher and the cowboy busdriver that Randy claimed was his ‘dad’. There was also a white haired boy, even in the colour photos, dressed in black that Randy seemed to be yelling at in half the pictures and a shorter black haired kid with green highlights who was always trying to mediate between the two. There was also a lady in a black and red kimono who looked stern and cold in both the photos and paintings, however Randy always looked ridiculously happy whenever she was in the frame with him. 

At the very back was a single profile painting of a redhead ninja, older than all the other pictures and with several water stains over it.

Howard folded the photos back into the wallet and stared blankly out into the hallway. It was oddly humbling. Howard knew that Randy was centuries old, that he was  _ the  _ Ninja of Norrisville, but now the evidence was right in front of him. That he was just the most recent addition to a long line of friends. How many of these people did he call his ‘best friend’? How many did he still remember? How many still remembered him?

“Hey Howard!” 

Randy came running up behind him, parts of his hoodie still stained with paint. However, had he not called out, Howard wouldn’t have heard him approaching at all. 

“Hey, I thought you said you were going ahead?”

“And leave my best friend behind? No way.” Howard passed Randy back his wallet. “Here, since I was kind enough to wait, you should be kind enough to pay.”

As usual, Randy didn’t protest but instead gave that same plain smile. “Fine, fine. Now c’mon, if we don’t hurry, we’ll be left with last week’s mystery meat.”

“And it’ll all be your fault, Cunningham.”

Howard was, hopefully, going to graduate in four years and be off to work or college or whatever but Randy will still be here, taking a new name and starting high school all over again. It he was going to end up another photo in his wallet then Howard was sure to make himself a friend,  _ the  _ best friend, worth remembering.  

  
  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When it all becomes too much, he retreats to his teacher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little something short and fluffy to illustrate Randy's relationship with the Nomicon.

Ninja House

He was falling, tumbling helplessly from the sky. Below there was no ground, only a continuation of the endless white. Swirling words of wisdom and apparitions passed he fell, narrowing around him turning the void into a funnel of symbols and characters. A familiar emblem, a cubic stylised nine, appeared beneath him. He spread out his arms and let the light cushion and consume his mind.

It had been too long since he last schloomp’d into the Nomicon.   

The whiteness gave way to a mid-tone sky, the yellowed shade of aged paper. The world around him was not real and it made no effort to hide that fact. The trees had thick black outlines, curved to the whim of an artist’s brush and ink. The grass and the ground and the water in the lake nearby all had the same washed out tone, watercolours fading into the colour of the paper. He landed on his feet with practiced grace and took in a deep breath. It was the musty dirt and clean air mixed with the faint scent of the scared Skunk Pine, the smell of his childhood.

When he was younger, barely a century old, he would always retreat back into these pages at any given chance. The static world of the Nomicon gave him a peace of mind. None of the Sorcerer’s monsters to fight. None of the odd stares and muted whispers of the ever changing, ever aging, people. Just simple peace. Even now, the stress of the real world faded from his mind. He wanted to close his eyes and relax. But no, not this time.

“Respected Teacher and Honorable Guide,” he said with a slight bow. The world stilled, frozen in anticipation of his request. Not that it was necessary though. He didn’t need to articulate his thoughts, the Nomicon knew them the moment he entered, but he had to say it. If he left it within his mind, it would be so easy to deny. Running to the Nomicon was also denial. He was hiding.

A cool wind blew across his face, prompting him to speak. He opened his mouth but his words failed him. If he said it, it would become all too real. Moving past denial was one step closer to acceptance but he didn’t want to accept  _ this. _

He gave up any pretence of formality as his emotions began to cave in. He crumpled to the ground and brought his knees to his chest, tears flowing freely. This was weakness, an open show of weakness. If he were anywhere else, this would be dangerous. He was vulnerable. Open to an attack. Open to the stank.

A chilling breeze swept past his face. He looked up, vision still blurry from the tears. The clouds swirled above him, parting to reveal elegant characters. It was an old lesson, one that he never truly learned.

_ A ninja that lives in the past is one that has turned his back to the future.  _

“I...I don’t understand.” he said with half choked sobs. 

But he was lying. The Nomicon knew. He knew. He was just firmly planted in his denial. 

Why did he come here anyway? He was stubborn, never properly learning his lessons until they nearly kill him. In the past, a younger him had twisted the lessons in whatever way he had seen fit to suit his own purpose. Coming here was just a bother to his Respected Teacher, burdening it with the shallow woes of a terrible student it had been stuck with for eight centuries.

Before he could bow his head again, he was wrapped in an embrace. There was no firmness like fleshy limbs but rather the warmth of a blanket. It encircled him, engulfed him and chased the destructive thoughts away. He looked up and saw a familiar cold mask, faceless and black with red circles. There was no neck or even a body but there was a head of long flowing hair, as violet as his own.

_ My Ninja.  _ The words echoed through the Nomicon in the rustling grass and painted sun, soothing him.  _ There is no shame in tears.  _

He stopped himself from drifting too deep in the comfort. He was too old-

_ Even the most battle hardened warrior or the wisest of sages cannot deny his emotions. _

But this was not something that-

_ To be a teacher is more than just to instruct and punish. _

But this was more than what a teacher should offer. The Nomicon wasn’t-

_ I might as well be with the amount of troubles that you have mounded on me. _

He stifled a giggle. A small smile dancing on his lips. That was too true. A playful rustle in his hair and the warmth beaming from the sun showed his teacher’s agreement. 

_ Rest your mind, my ninja. Let planning come when you have been rested.  _

And his eyes began to droop close. The sun and wind lulling him into a peaceful slumber that was never possible in the physical world, the fabric embrace keeping him secure. 

“Thank you, Teacher.” Thank you, Nomicon.

  
  



End file.
